


safety.

by sniikt



Category: The Last of Us
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Infected Reader, Reader Death, this is very sad i'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 12:16:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16933113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sniikt/pseuds/sniikt
Summary: this is joel. he'll keep you safe. joel will always keep you safe.





	safety.

**Author's Note:**

> so like a lot of the credit for this work goes to @arthrmorgans on twitter because over half of these ideas are hers

You don’t cry when the clicker bites you, or when Joel shoots it, or when he rushes to your side to push its heavy, lifeless form off of you.

You don’t cry when Joel’s eyes focus on the bite, lines of tension written in his being, or when his fingers ghost over the wound, not quite daring to touch it.

You don’t cry when his fingers move up to brush blood and grime from your face--so soft, too soft, or when he murmurs soft consoling words and calls you sweetheart--the nickname he saves for situations where panic seizes you and he holds you close to calm you down.

You want to cry as you selfishly wish he would stay with you, just for a little while.

You want to cry as you tell him to leave, and he fixes you with this steady look that’s so full of sadness and darkness and fear, and when you think that he’s going to leave you here, on your own, to become just like one of those lifeless creatures outside.

You want to cry as he shifts to take off his pack and you think that he’s going to shoot you, and that’s okay, you’re just scared and you hope he makes your death quick and painless.

And you almost cry with relief when he sets out rations instead of a gun, and says “I ain’t leavin’ you here on your own.”

You don’t cry until later, over the rations that Joel heated up over a little fire he made with shaky hands. You’re staring at your lukewarm beans in a can, pushing them around with your fork and you’ve only eaten a couple bites, just because Joel keeps looking over at you and telling you to eat. You don’t even quite realize you’re crying until drops of water start falling into your beans, and then the lump forms in your throat, and what little you’ve eaten threatens to come up. 

Joel holds back your hair as you throw up in the corner, and then holds you as you sob into his shoulder. He calls you his sweetheart, and tells you you’re the strongest person he knows, and you’re going to make it through this. He murmurs consolations into your hair and neck and cheek, and keeps you pressed into his chest, smoothing down your hair occasionally. When you’ve calmed down a little, the sobs subsiding into soft hiccuping, Joel brushes the remaining tears from your cheeks and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “It’s okay.” He murmurs. “We’ll figure something out. We always do.” 

You can’t tell if he’s talking to you or himself.

He doesn’t make you eat anymore after that. 

As night starts to fall, you start to shake, shivering, despite still being pressed to his chest. He feels your forehead with the back of his hand, and you see the spark of fear in his eyes as he readjusts to pull off his jacket and wrap it around your shoulders. 

Tears start falling down your cheeks again, then, and between hiccupped sobs you tell him how sorry you are. “I should have waited. Should have been more careful. You’re always saying how I should--”

“Shh sweetheart,” he murmurs pressing kisses to your cheek and forehead. “It’s okay. It’s okay. This isn’t your fault.”

Every little bit of your body burns, and your bite hurts, and every muscle aches. Your head is killing you, and you just want to sleep, but you can’t. He won’t leave you, so you’re going to stay as long as possible for him. 

“It hurts,” you say, only it comes out a whisper, your throat too sore from sobbing for anything else. 

“I know honey. I know darlin’. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m gonna turn soon,” you say softly, trying to stop your hiccuped sobs. “If you’re going to stay you shouldn’t be so close to me.”

“That’s not gonna happen.” He says it so firmly, so matter of fact that you can almost believe it. “I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you, sweetheart.”

“Joel--” you start, fully aware of how stupid he’s being but he shakes his head and makes a shushing noise at you.

“Have I told you about my twenty first birthday?” He asks, and you hiccup once more, shaking your head slightly. 

He launches into a story about drinking and partying and nearly starting a bar fight on his twenty first birthday when Tommy insisted that they go out. It would be nice, if your entire body didn’t hurt like hell, and he wasn’t just telling you his stories to distract you from the pain that ran through your veins. You start to doze in his arms, exhausted and slowly becoming a comfortable numb. His fingers run through your hair, playing with it comfortingly, and it feels so nice and warm, and this is Joel, you can fall asleep with him. He’ll keep you safe.

Joel always keeps you safe.

  
  



End file.
